


We wear red so they don't see us bleed

by samvelg



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Dragon Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Idiot, Getting Together, Identity Reveal, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Feral Bastard, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Monster Jaskier | Dandelion, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Reconciliation, Scent Kink, Scenting, Secret Identity, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22799632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samvelg/pseuds/samvelg
Summary: Geralt of Rivia is many things, a complete moron when it comes to being honest with his feelings being one of them. When he loses Yennefer and pushes away Jaskier in the wake of the dragon hunt, the last thing he expects to find when going after his bard to actually apologise for once is an empty clearing with all signs pointing to him being carted off by a dragon.The enduing quest to rescue Jaskier is somewhat hampered by the fact that not only is the bard heartbroken and not wanting to be found by Geralt, but he's also the dragon in question.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 84
Kudos: 854





	1. All the ashes in my wake

**Author's Note:**

> So I've got about a million WIPs underway but I'm so fucking obsessed with the idea of red dragon Jaskier and Geralt's scent kink sooooo here yah go.
> 
> No idea how long this'll be or if it'll end up in sexytimes or anything else but it's going to be fun.

In hindsight the perfumes make more sense. But hindsight is as much of a bastard as Destiny, and at the time Geralt had just thought the scents were yet another part of the bard's dedication to the foppish aesthetic of his craft and disregarded it as a pretentious affectation. 

Jaskier had always liked to wear them, right from the first time he'd spotted Geralt brooding in the corner of a shitty tavern in Posada and sauntered over in a cloud of curiosity, marigolds and stale bread to ask for a review. The longer they spent time with each other the more he wore them and the more outrageous they got, swapping the scents out as whim and the stock available in whatever apothecaries they passed dictated, but always wearing them nonetheless. 

It had been annoying at first, but over time Geralt had gotten to know his favorites (buttercups and other bright florals for spring and sunshine, spicy cinnamon and holly for winter, ambergris for performances in castles and vanilla for the ones in taverns) and underneath whatever was the flavor of the month was the scent of evergreen which was the closest he could get to Jaskier's pure natural scent. Sometimes when they shared too-small beds at shitty inns or when Jaskier stole his shirts he even thought he could faintly smell something smouldering underneath the perfume and sweat. Like sitting by the fire at the end of a long day, while the bard plays his lute and hums softly under his breath as the stars twinkle through the trees and Geralt is surely the closest to contented a Witcher could possibly get. Jaskier smells like wandering through a moderately fancy brothel, only to keep walking and end up camping somewhere high in the mountains, and Geralt has no idea when that started being the smell of home. 

* * *

It goes something like this. 

A bard and a Witcher walk into a bar, and after a series of unfortunate events (and some rather poor attempts at flirting on the bard's part) they're invited on a dragon hunt by a dragon in disguise and his two terrifyingly competent bodyguards. To say that the hunt doesn't go as planned is an understatement, but in the end the Witcher helps save the day and promptly gets dumped by his sorceress girlfriend, and not even a minute later he lashes out like a cornered animal and dumps his bard as well. 

It doesn't even take Geralt ten minutes to realise how badly he fucked up, though it does take a whole hour to convince himself that standing moodily on a mountain top is not in fact the better part of valour, and that he needs to go find his bard and apologise. Now. 

There's only one path down the mountain again since the dwarven shortcut is now impassable, so as long as he hurries Geralt knows he'll be able to catch up to Jaskier quickly. He's not as sure what he'll actually say once he does but surely Jaskier will understand, because Jaskier always understands when he's an arse who can't cope with the overwhelming feelings Witcher's apparently don't have. Even he's not stupid enough to think there's any point trying to find Yenn when she doesn't want to be found, especially not when Destiny will eventually drag them together again sooner or later thanks to his fucking wish, but Jaskier? That's potentially within his power to fix today.

While hastily shoving his things back into his pack at the campsite he can see Borch Three Jackdaws looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't have much to say to the man, not after what he said to Yennefer, but there's something sharp and knowing in them anyway. The smell of wary protectiveness is coming from Téa and Vea as they also eye him carefully in case he decides to take his bad mood out on someone else (again) but all Borch smells like is burning cypress and pity. He smelt like patchouli in the tavern and on the road, but apparently returning to his true form and setting a bunch of Reavers on fire has worn that all away. Geralt's never smelt a dragon before but he knows he isn't ever going to forget it, the heady mixture of reptilian scales, magic and woodash from a forest fire which from now on will always kind of remind him of this awful fucking day. 

Hurrying down the mountain path he ignores the chatty dwarves already planning how to spend their gold and hones all of his senses in on tracking Jaskier. His footprints are as easy to spot as always thanks to his ridiculous shoes - which are utterly impractical for trudging through the wilderness but which he still refuses to give up no matter how many times Geralt snaps at him for complaining when it would be so easy to fix - and the lingering scent of his current perfume (sandalwood and rose, with a hint of lily-of-the-valley) is almost strong enough to cover up the unmistakable salty bitterness of tears. 

Fuck. Looks like in addition to potentially ruining things with Yennefer for good he also made his bard cry, and right now with Jaskier's anguish thick in the air he isn't even sure which is distressing him more. 

In an effort to not think too hard about that Geralt is forcing himself through the nigh unprecedented activity of trying to compose a proper apology, the kind with words and everything (a process not unlike how Jaskier composes music which he's been listening to for the last two decades, but not nearly so emotive or successful), when he reaches a clearing and his stomach sinks to the ground because the footprints just fucking stop. 

The ground is disturbed, as are the bushes and trees around the edges, and Geralt's keen eyes and experience are telling him something which his mind is recoiling from in horror, that something _big_ came through here. Something big - and likely with wings if the damage to the upper canopy is anything to go by - was in this clearing at the exact same time that Jaskier was, and now the clearing is empty and there's no more footprints to follow. Thank the gods he can't smell any blood or he'd be about ready to scream, but the sandalwood and sorrow is almost too thick on his tongue for him to discern anything else, just the now unmistakable scent of scales and forest fires. It isn't Borch, more pine than cypress, but it's without a doubt the smell of a dragon where his bard should be. And Geralt sees _red._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://samvelg-likes-things.tumblr.com


	2. All you have is your fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is doing his best to keep on going ever onward in the wake of Geralt discarding him, singing and playing his way across the Continent alone, when one night while he's performing there is an unexpected yet familiar face in the crowd.

Jaskier drains his ale and thunks the empty tankard down on a nearby table as he grins at the rest of the tavern. "Right then, so where were we good gentlefolk?"

"You was about to sing us the one about the White Wolf and the horny sirens!" Shouts a pissed blacksmith sitting at the bar.

Jaskier grits his teeth, and the smile would no doubt look incredibly forced to anyone who was actually paying attention to anything beyond his bright blue silk clothes and the crown of dandelions in his hair. "If you can cast your oh so agile minds back yonder to the last _four times_ it came up, I do believe that what I actually said was that I would _not_ in fact be recounting any more of the heroic deeds of the White Wolf this evening. Or any evening."

This wasn't the first time in the months since the fight with Geralt on the mountain that Jaskier had needed to explain this to a tavern full of drunken villagers, and it no doubt wouldn't be the last. The downsides of your muse who you'd been singing about for the last twenty years kicking you to the curb. Could it even be called a fight when one person yelled very unkind things to another person who definitely didn't deserve it and that person slunk off like a beaten dog? The word fight gave the impression of equals clashing valiantly, drawn swords and daring do, not getting his heart crushed into pieces and handed back to him by the person he loved most in the world. 

"Why don't I sing _Elaine Ettarial_ for you all? It is a stirring ballad of a stunningly beautiful elven maiden and her heroism when she--"

"Sing _Toss A Coin_!" Heckles another patron with approximately half a dozen teeth, and Jaskier strums his lute so he doesn't just throw it at the bastard's head.

"How about a compromise then?" He suggests, knowing the crowd is a stubborn one and that if he wants to make enough coin for a bed tonight and still have enough left over for provisions tomorrow that he'll have to give them something. " _Her Sweet Kiss_ , a tragic tale of the White Wolf's doomed love affair with a beautiful and ruthless sorceress?"

A raucous round of cheers follows this offer, and he resigns himself to rehashing Geralt and Yennefer's violent battlefield of a romance as he sits back on a table near the hearth and begins to play.

_"The fairer sex, they often call it  
_ _But her love's unfair as a crook  
_ _It steals all my reason  
_ _Commits every treason  
_ _Of logic, with naught but a look  
_ _A storm breaking on the horizon  
_ _Of longing and heartache and lust  
_ _She's always bad news  
_ _It's always lose, lose  
_ _So tell me love, tell me love  
_ _How is that just?"_

Just as Jaskier launches into the chorus while the crowd looks on enraptured, his eyes flick over to the table in the far corner purely out of habit and he sees fucking Villentretenmerth of all fucking people watching him. He's far too much of a professional to stumble with his words despite the shock, but it's a close call. It also means this night has just gone from shit to worse, so after the last notes fade away and the tavern is loudly applauding him for his blatant pandering he bows out, pleading that he needs to rest his voice for a bit.

After collecting the coin and the free drink that said pandering has earned him, he packs up his lute and heads on over to plonk himself down across from the middle-aged gold dragon currently enjoying the poor excuse for ale they serve here in this particular shit-stained corner of Temeria. "Well I must say, that it is quite the unexpected pleasure to have a visit from such an esteemed personage as yourself." 

Villentretenmerth smiles calmly, like he isn't the reason for the worst day in the bard's entire life. "Hello Jaskier, it's lovely to see you again. Have you been well?" 

He shrugs, not particularly in the mood for the small talk but also not wanting to brave the tavern patrons again right now. "Oh I'm keeping busy. Received an invitation to perform at the court in Cidaris in a few weeks for a festival, so I'm just getting together enough coin to make the trip. How's the whole fatherhood thing going, is it as good a first as you were hoping?"

"Congratulations on such a prestigious invitation." He says, toasting him with his ale. "And it certainly is, possibly one of the best firsts I've ever experienced."

Jaskier looked around to see if he could scrounge up any other conversational topics than what the man was obviously here for. "I see your lovely bodyguards haven't joined you this evening."

Villenretenmerth raises an eyebrow. "I see yours hasn't either."

Whatever awkward but polite cordiality had existed between them before is blown away by the flare of burning anger which erupts from Jaskier, his hand gripping the tankard tightening until the metal creaks and dents. 

"How _dare_ you." He snarls, the tension which had been simmering in his blood all evening threatening to overflow. "You know full well why he isn't Villentretenmerth."

"It wasn't my intent to be unkind." The bastard replies, raising his hands as if to placate him. "To answer your question, Téa and Vea are guarding my child for the evening so I could come and talk to you."

For a dragon to leave their infant when they can't be more than a few months out of the egg is a big deal, and Jaskier is growing increasingly concerned as to why he's here. "I don't see what there is to talk about."

Villentretenmerth sighs, sounding tired. "I think you do, fledgling." 

Even though he knew it was coming, Jaskier's heart skips a beat. "Well then _I_ think you've made some kind of mistake."

The look the other dragon gives him is as unimpressed as it is incredulous. "Are you really going to sit there and act like we both haven't known exactly what the other is from our first meeting? I'm not some ignorant human who can be fooled by such things, and neither are you."

Jaskier resolutely ignores how the disapproval makes his stomach twist. "It doesn't just fool humans."

"No it doesn't." Villentretenmerth agrees. "I thought perhaps your Witcher knew, but considering his reaction to your abrupt disappearance that clearly isn't the case."

"He's not my Witcher." Jaskier snaps on reflex, before the second part of the sentence catches up with him. "Er, what reaction exactly are you talking about?"

"That would be the reason I'm here actually." He says, putting down his tankard to fold his hands and look seriously at the annoyed bard. "About an hour after you left the camp Geralt finished sulking and set off down the mountain to find you, only to come back soon after waving his swords around in my face because apparently you'd been abducted by a dragon."

Jaskier chokes on his shitty ale. "Excuse me, he did _what?"_

"It seems he followed your tracks until they stopped quite abruptly, and where they stopped there was evidence of a dragon's presence. He was quite beside himself with worry."

He snorts, definitely not at all bitterly. "Geralt of Rivia is never beside himself over anything, except occasionally Yennefer of Venngerberg, his horse and a hot bath, and not always in that order."

Villentretenmerth huffs a laugh, because he'd spent all of a few days with Geralt and he still knew just how true of a statement that is. How people genuinely thought Witchers had no feelings Jaskier had no idea, the man was as moody as a Touissant princess with the clap. "Maybe that's true, but the fact remains that I had an irate Witcher threatening to make me a matching pair of arseholes if I didn't tell him where you were or who might have taken you. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was the one of us about ready to start blowing fire."

"Oh he can definitely make fire with one of his Witcher signs." Jaskier rambles, because words have always come easily to him when he doesn't know what else to do, and the image of a frantic Geralt threatening a nesting dragon on his behalf is likely to do his head in if he's not careful. "Seen him roast a whole cemetery of undead beasties when they tried to eat Roach, it took three washes and an entire bottle of my nice lavender perfume oil to get the smell of cooked necrophage out of our clothes, but it was that or be barred entry from the only whorehouse in town which was _not_ an option thank you very much! Though I suppose that Igni comes out of his hand and not his mouth, so it's not technically _blowing_ per se--"

Mercifully for all concerned, Villentretenmerth interrupts him before his mind can take a sharp detour into the treacherous conversational hinterland of Geralt of Rivia blowing anything. "That's not my point and you know it. Stars and sky fledgling, if I didn't already know you were a red from your scent then I'd certainly know from the mouth on you."

He scowls and drinks more of his ale in pointed protest, because not everyone can be a stupid majestic gold with all of their stupid majestic everything now can they. "Stop calling me that, I'm not a child."

Villentretenmerth drains his ale and gestures to a passing barmaid for another round. "Maybe not by human reckoning, but you aren't human Jaskier."

"Why don't you say it a little louder," Jaskier hisses as she sets another two tankards down on the table in return for a few coins and continues on her merry (and decidedly frazzled) way without even looking. "I don't think they quite heard you down in Nilfgaard!"

The older dragon just snorts into his drink, clearly confident in their relative anonymity and well past giving a shit. "No one's listening, they're far too busy drinking themselves stupid."

"Be that as it may, I very much doubt that either of us is standing here today for want of discretion!" Well technically they're sitting, but that doesn't sound nearly as poetic.

"Normally I would agree with you, but you did choose to follow a Witcher around for two decades." Villentretenmerth pauses with his tankard halfway back to his face. "What were you going to do when he realised you weren't aging? I've been wondering that ever since we met and I still haven't been able to work it out."

Jaskier flushes, because it's something he'd been wondering for much longer than that himself before Geralt had gone and made it a rather moot point. "Well I would have done _something_ of course! Probably something incredibly clever and witty too I'll have you know, that is if I even had to in the first place. For an observant man he can be remarkably unobservant." He sighs, shoulders drooping in defeat. "That or I just wasn't worth observing."

"You're worth enough that he's been chasing any half-baked rumours of dragons and sightings of you he can find across half the Continent for the last eight months."

"What?" He can't have heard that right, he just can't have. 

Villentretenmerth's eyes are piercing straight through him. "Geralt's looking for you Jaskier."

This makes absolutely no sense. "Why, to hunt me? Because if he thinks I owe him money he can fuck right of, I know I nicked the good bedroll from his pack but that's only because we have long had a gentlemen's agreement about what constitutes communal property--"

"No you foolish boy," he sighs. "To rescue you."

"Rescue me?" Okay, that makes even less sense than Geralt being annoyed about his grand theft blanket. "From _myself?"_

"It is quite unfortunate, yes." The other dragon agrees. "You see why I guessed he doesn't know the truth? Last I heard he was in Redania dealing with a leshen, and when he was done he was resuming on his journey south to look for you."

"Oh bollocks." He rubs his face, careful not to smear the subtle kohl around his eyes, and pushes the flower crown back up from where it's slipped down over the course of their conversation. "Well in that case I'm very glad I'm catching a ride to the next river town with a fur trader tomorrow, hopefully I can get there and book passage on a boat before he catches up with me. Unless he needs to cross to Skellige for a contract he can't avoid he always forgets that boats exist, the great musclebound idiot."

"You do have other options you know. It should only be about a week of night-flying to get you there as long as you were careful to avoid populated areas and stayed well above the cloud bank."

He picks at the cuffs of his doublet to avoid eye contact, not sure how to explain to the other dragon how he avoids taking his other form as much as possible. That even though the feeling of wind beneath his wings is as intoxicating as drinking a Mettina Rosé out of a duchess's bellybutton, the idea that he'd be seen (or worse, that somehow he'd forget how to return to his human form) is terrifying. Jaskier is only in his fourth decade - young for a dragon even though he'll never admit it - and ever since leaving home to study at Oxenfurt he can count the number of times he's flown on one hand. Hell, the only reason he'd flown away from that clusterfuck on the mountain at all was because at that moment the idea of being overtaken on the only path down by a furious, uncaring Geralt who would be able to see just how pathetic and heartbroken Jaskier was in the wake of his abrupt dismissal scared him even more than being caught.

"You are being pursued by a very determined Witcher Jaskier. This isn't a monster hunt, it's a full on quest to save a princess. The likes of which haven't happened in centuries, not since we went into hiding."

"But-but in this scenario I'm both the dragon _and_ the princess!" He protests, ignoring the instinctual panic of saying that first bit out loud for the first time to anyone not his adoptive parents, as well as the traitorous curl of warmth and hope which was threatening to ignite in his chest. "The ballads always made it sound so heroic and exciting but this isn't going to go well, not at all, not for anyone. Why can't he just leave me be to wallow in my misery? He's finally alone again with no more annoying bard to drag him down, that's what he wanted after all."

If the incredulous look earlier was clear as day, then this one has been illuminated by half the magefire in the Continent. "Why on earth do you think that's what he wants?"

"Because he told me so, remember? Right after you'd pulled that stunt with Yennefer, he even used his big boy words and everything. All that time trying to get him to open up and when he does that's what came out." He sniffs, rubbing his eyes to stop any tears before they can form. "I might not be good at taking a hint apparently, but even as shameless as I am I'm not so lacking in pride as to hang around someone who only considers me an unwanted burden."

"Jaskier," he says softly. "Do you know of any living creature who truly wants to be all alone? As an honest preference I mean, not out of habit or because they're trying to protect themselves from something even worse than loneliness."

Two survivors of a once proud and flourishing race sit in a cramped tavern in skins not quite their own, surrounded by the loud, teeming masses of the same kind of people who killed them for sport, for fear, for treasure, and above all for not understanding them, and for once in his life Jaskier can't say a word. Sometimes it feels like he'd loved Geralt ever since he first laid his eyes on him, even though he knows to the second the exact moment he fell for him truly, but maybe there was more than one reason why he'd tagged along with the Witcher in the first place which wasn't simple curiosity. Maybe what he'd really wanted was exactly this, to be able to sit quietly in the corner and share a drink with someone else who was human-shaped but not human, and who knew what it was like to be feared and hated just for being what you are. 

"Oi bard!" The moment is shattered by the loud interruption like a wagon wheel being thrown through a shop window. "Come sing us another song!"

"I shall be there in but a moment good fellow!" He calls out over his shoulder, stuffing all the warring emotions back down so he can pick and choose the useful ones to keep for his performance, and turns back to the other dragon. "Well, that's my cue. Can't keep my adoring fans waiting."

Villentretenmerth finishes his ale. "I suppose it's time for me to return to my eyrie. It's only a few hours flight from here but I want to be back with my child well before dawn."

"What's the little one's name?" He asks curiously as they both stand to leave the shelter of their corner. 

He beams, looking happier and more content than Jaskier had ever seen him. "Her name is Saesenthessis, and she is the joy of my life."

Something raw lurches deep in his heart, but he's smiling too. "I'm so happy for you, truly."

"One day you will meet her Jaskier, I know it." There's something burning in the other dragon's eyes which makes a usually slumbering part of him sit up and pay attention. "When she's older and you've found your way home again, you will find each other too."

The faint scent-taste of magic and Destiny on his tongue following that declaration is making his spine tingle, and the urge to scratch until he hits scales is briefly overwhelming. "Is that a prophecy, or a warning?"

"It's a promise." Villentretenmerth puts his hand on Jaskier's shoulder, the warmth of the fire under his human skin sinking deep into the bard's bones and making him feel more at peace than he has since that godforsaken mountain. "I know I'm not your blood family fledgling, but we are kin. There are so few of us left and most are scattered to all the corners of the Continent, alone in a world that doesn't understand us and would use us for their own selfish ends, and we can't afford to turn our backs on each other when our paths do cross. While I know you are too old and far too used to your freedom for me to take you in as my own, I will be keeping my eyes and ears out for you from now on, and if you need me I will be there. You are not alone in this world Jaskier, I swear it on the stars and the sky."

Jaskier has no idea how to put together a response to that which isn't just ugly sobbing into the man's jerkin, so he picks up his lute and plays a jaunty chord. "Then I suppose I shall have to compose a glorious song to play for the little one when our paths eventually cross as well, maybe an epic tale of her noble father's quest to reunite with her. I'm not sure if I can find something which rhymes with Saesenthessis, but it sounds like I've got some time yet and I'm very determined I'll have you know."

Villentretenmerth grins, and claps him again on the shoulder before fetching his cloak so he can head out. "I think she'd like that very much. You take care fledgling, and good luck with your Witcher."

"Still not my Witcher." He rolls his eyes and turns towards the hearth and his audience, feeling too warm for once to let it drag his mood down. "Safe travels my friend. Do give my regards to your fair daughter, and to those gorgeous ladies of yours as well."

Villentretenmerth just laughs and heads for the door, slipping smoothly between the farmers and craftsmen and assorted travelers without a backward glance. Jaskier swipes a tankard from the same frazzled barmaid as he passes her and downs the lot of it by the time he's back at the hearth.

"So then!" He says brightly, smiling even brighter than the dandelions in his hair. "Where were we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making this up as I go along for once instead of meticulously planning everything out, and apparently not only does Jaskier wear flower crowns and eyeliner now while he's performing, but it seems I have quite a lot of Feelings about dragon genocide and found families. 
> 
> Come scream with me on Tumblr  
> http://samvelg-likes-things.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> https://samvelg-likes-things.tumblr.com


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